A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  Robert threw his hands up when Mrs. Carr began wailing again. “Good God, woman! Get a grip on your emotions, will you?”

  “Would someone please tell me what has happened here? And why I’ve been summoned?” He watched Trudy pour a cup of coffee from a service on a side table.

  Robert ran his fingers through his hair, raising tufts of thinning gray. “My daughters. They are completely out of hand. Laura announced yesterday that she could not marry Burke, then said she would when her mother told her it was too late to beg off, and that she damn well would go through with the wedding. Then Fiona became angry and said Laura only wanted to beg off to spite her—whatever that meant. We thought it was all settled. Just a fit of nervousness. Then this morning, Trudy brought a letter Fiona had slipped under her door sometime during the night saying she was running off to marry George Bradley. Bradley, for God’s sake! Our neighbor! Makes one wonder what’s been going on beneath one’s own nose!”

  Trudy handed Dare his coffee with a raised eyebrow and he nearly laughed that she could still be droll in the face of all this. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “I must congratulate you on your sangfroid in the face of this muddle.”

  Trudy made as if to reply, but her father continued his blustering.

  “I say, what’s that? What did you say?” Robert asked.

  Dare turned his attention smoothly back to his host. “How long have they been gone?”

  “Don’t know,” Carr said. “Fiona could have been gone for hours. Said she wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed early. ’Twas nine or so. Trudy only found Fi’s letter slipped under her door this morning.”

  Dare glanced at the tall case clock. Half past nine. “Twelve hours is a considerable lead. I doubt we’d catch them, Carr. I know Bradley well and I can tell you he is not likely stopping but to change the horses. They’ll be in Gretna Green and wed before we’d catch them. Miss Fiona is of the age of consent, after all. But, if you are determined to go after them...”

  “Too late for that now.” Robert slumped into a chair, his head bowed.

  “There is worse than that,” Mrs. Carr shrieked with sudden clarity. “’’Tis Laura, too.”

  He glance quickly at Trudy, who nodded confirmation. “When I went to tell her about Fiona, I found her gone. She’d left a note for me on her pillow.”

  “Is she refusing to wed Colonel Burke again?”

  “You should have listened to her, Ellen!” Robert waved one hand angrily. “She’d be here now if you were not so set on forcing Burke on her.”

  Trudy produced a letter and gave it to him without a word. He unfolded it and read it quickly. Morton, by God! He’d suspected as much, but after all his baiting, his friend had not admitted a thing. At the Towe ball, Morton, the sly dog, had disappeared for an hour, then returned looking like the cat that got the cream. He must have had an assignation with Laura to make their plans. And all Laura’s indecision was probably just a play to allay her family’s suspicion. Well, Godspeed to them.

  “Fiona realized that Laura would never marry Colonel Burke,” Trudy explained. “But she didn’t know about Lord Morton. She believed she would have to wait another three years for Laura to make another choice. But Laura had her own plans and... well, you see what happened. Now they are both gone.”

  “This is your fault, Trudy!” Mrs. Carr staggered to her feet, her face red and mottled. “You’ve always been a troublemaker. If you hadn’t interfered—hadn’t urged Laura to recant—”

  Dare stepped in front of Trudy. “No, madam. This is your fault for being so blind to your daughters’ needs. These events have more to do with your rigid determination to have your daughters married in order than with anything Miss Gertrude may have said or done. Has it not occurred to you that your eldest daughter’s choice of the Viscount Morton makes a better marriage than one to a mediocre army officer?”

  “The scandal—”

  He couldn’t help but wonder what Mrs. Carr would be saying if she knew what her son had done, and how near the Carr family had come to complete ruination. He sighed and summoned his patience. “There will be a bit of scandal, but it will die quickly. Society will not shun them for following their hearts. Morton is an upstanding member of society and has been pursued by many an heiress and lady. In fact, Mrs. Carr, you would do well to cultivate Morton’s favor. He is quite influential and has loved your daughter for years. Aside from that, you have had your way—Laura is likely the first to marry. I’d wager she is married by now while Miss Fiona is still en route to Scotland.”

  Mrs. Carr looked somewhat mollified. “But—”

  “Collingwood is right, Ellen.” Robert stood and clapped Dare on the shoulder, his face alight with the realization that all might not be lost. “Society will take our lead. Their reaction will depend upon ours. It falls to us to put a good face on it.”

  “How shall we ever put a good face on this? The invitations! The flowers! The food! Guests will be arriving soon. Shall we turn them away at the door? How shall we ever explain it all? We shall be a laughingstock!”

  Dare gave Trudy a wink. “I have an idea.”

  “What a coup! To have all three daughters married within a day! A masterstroke, I tell you! The ton will be talking about this for years.”

  “I cannot believe how brilliantly the Carrs have kept this secret until today. And what a delightful turn of events to surprise us all with this.”

  “They must be so proud. And grateful that they were able to keep their daughters for as long as they did. And now, to have them all so successfully married in one stroke! Well, it will be the envy of every father.”

  “A stunning success. How did they ever manage it?”

  “Three daughters wed in a single day! Ellen has set a record. We must congratulate her.”

  Trudy leaned against the sill of her open bedroom window, eavesdropping on the conversations below. Ah, yes. Collingwood had been right about setting a tone for the wedding and pretending it had been planned all along. Actually, he had rescued her entire family, and they were not even aware of the worst of it.

  And now she would be the one to send it crashing around their ears again.

  She glanced at the fairing he’d bought her of the kittens in a basket and smiled. How could she ever have guessed that she’d be marrying him scarce over a week later? She went to her looking glass and stared. She barely recognized herself. Laura’s wedding gown fit perfectly and made her feel truly beautiful. The pale blush silk was every bit as exquisite on her as it had been on Laura. The tiny crystals twinkled when she turned to a knock on her door and the small train puddled around her feet.

  “Come in.” She held her breath.

  The door opened wide and it was her father with Collingwood fast behind. Her stomach fluttered at how handsome he was. How perfect in every way.

  Her father came to her and took both her hands, leaving Collingwood in the corridor. “I’ve always known you are the sensible one, poppet. Laura allows her heart to rule. Fiona is too headstrong to see any sense beyond the end of her nose. Lancelot is still finding his feet in the world. But you, Trudy, have always had a level head.” He patted her hand where it rested over his arm. “’Tis why we never worried about you.”

  The tiniest twinge of guilt bit her conscience. Father would never have said those words if he knew the things she’d done in the last fortnight! “Thank you, Father. But I must speak to Collingwood. Alone.”

  “Here now!” Her father harrumphed. “’Tisn’t decent for a man to be alone with a lady in her chamber.”

  “You will be right outside should I need you,” Trudy reminded.

  “But the guests are all waiting—”

  “This will not take long. I promise you, I shan’t go through with this if I haven’t spoken to Collingwood privately first.”

  “Well,” he glanced over his shoulder at Collingwood,” I suppose it will do no harm.” He turned and shuffled toward the door, patting Dare’s arm on the
way by and muttering something Trudy couldn’t hear.

  She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Thank you for coming, Collingwood,” she murmured. “Please come in, and close the door behind you.”

  His smile faded and his brow furrowed. “What is it, Trudy.”

  The moment her door closed she rushed to his side. “If you sneak down the back stairs and hail a carriage, you can be quit of this disaster in a matter of minutes.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Oh, Dare, I care for you far too much to snare you into the marriage trap in such a way.”

  “Still trying to rescue me? I would have loved you for that alone, by the way.” His brow smoothed and he smiled, which only caused her stomach to flip-flop again. “And here I thought I was trapping you. If you do not go through with this, there will be a scandal, you know.”

  “Oh, bother the scandal! ’Tis you I care about. You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I’d marry you even if you hadn’t just saved my family in more ways than they will ever know. But you deserve better than the crazy Carrs. No doubt we shall drag you into more messes.”

  “I find the occasional mess relieves the tedium of my stodginess. Indeed, I have become rather fond of messes.”

  She laughed at his teasing. A glance out her window at the back garden revealed that guests were beginning to gather and she tamped down on her impending panic. “You can say that now, but in a month... or a year...”

  “I am tired of a tidy, flat, emotionless life with no surprises. No excitement. I crave more now that I’ve become acquainted with you.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “But I am not worthy of you.”

  “Really?” His grin widened. “I would disagree, but I think I shall take delight in reminding you of those words in the years to come.”

  “Why? Why would you ever want me as a wife. I am nothing suitable for you at all.”

  “Precisely the reason. You’re a lawless harridan! Completely irrepressible! Wayward, wanton, irreverent and impertinent. I love the way you challenge my beliefs and opinions. And I cannot live without you. I scarce know myself these days, but I’ve become a better man for knowing you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. “I do not know if I should believe you. You were perfect when I met you.”

  He shook his head and came forward to take her hands in his. “No. You were right when we met. I was dour, rigid, stodgy, and... and intimidating, I believe. But you, Trudy, are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Perhaps more than you even realize. You are kind to a fault, loyal beyond reason, and so clever it frightens me. And you are the only person who has ever attempted to rescue me. And here you are trying to rescue me again, are you not? Since meeting you, I’ve lied to friends, cheated at cards, stolen from acquaintances, abetted theft, subverted the law, blackmailed my peers, meddled in a friend’s affairs, and murdered a man—albeit accidentally, and I was prepared to confess to a murder I did not commit. Me! And I cannot regret a single moment of it.”

  She looked down at her hands in his. So strong, so warm. So right. So perfectly right.

  “Now.” He released her hands and stepped back and opened the door to admit her father. “I am going downstairs. I will be waiting in the arbors with the minister and countless guests. If you are not there within five minutes, I will come after you and carry you down. And that particular scandal would be on your head.”

  Her laugh came out more like a sob of relief. “Oh, Mother is going to have a difficult time with you, I think.”

  He turned and gave her an irreverent grin. “Not unless she has some silly rule regarding which of her daughters may bear a child first.”

  Also by Gail Ranstrom:

  Wednesday League Books

  A WILD JUSTICE — ISBN 0-373-29217-1

  SAVING SARAH — ISBN 0-373-29260-0

  THE RAKE’S REVENGE — ISBN 0-373-29331-3

  THE MISSING HEIR — ISBN 0-373-29353-4

  THE COURTESAN’S COURTSHIP — ISBN 0-373-29383-6

  Hunter Brothers Books

  INDISCRETIONS — ISBN 0-373-29424-7

  LORD LIBERTINE — ISBN 0-373-29468-9

  UNLACING LILLY — ISBN 0-373-29512-X

  A RAKE BY MIDNIGHT — ISBN 978-0-373-29613-2

  A DARING LIAISON — ISBN 978-0-373-30658-9

  Other Titles

  SWEET TREASON—ASIN: B00EGJE4O4

  TO TEMPT A THIEF - ASIN: B00UNZ3DD8

  ANTHOLOGIES:

  A CHRISTMAS VISIT — ISBN 0-373-29327-5

  A Christmas Secret

  BROKEN VOWS, MENDED HEARTS — ISBN 0-373-29403-4

  Paying the Piper

  A REGENCY CHRISTMAS — ISBN 978-0-373-29567-8

  A Little Christmas

  Connect with me:

  www.gailranstrom.com

  www.facebook.com/GailRanstrom

  www.facebook.com/gailranstrom1

  LADY SYBIL’S VAMPIRE

  Ann Lethbridge

  Dedication

  To my family, who have always supported my dreams.

  CHAPTER ONE

  June 19, 1811, Carlton House

  ROYALTY, NOBILITY, AND England’s most powerful politicians dined cheek by jowl. King in all but name, the Regent gleefully presided over all, smiling and nodding with benevolent majesty at surrounding lesser mortals. Lady Sybil Lofstrom, seated with Lord Orrick and his daughter Caro at the far end of the immense table, scarcely warranted a glance.

  And Sybil was content to have it so. The less she was noticed the better. She didn’t even use her title anymore.

  The conservatory had been turned into a dining room for the event. Its glass roof and walls reflected light from a myriad of chandeliers and candelabra as did the jewels worn by the attendant ladies and gentlemen. The forty-foot dinner table with its replica of a stream meandering down the middle, amid banks of flowers, sparkled with gold and silver cutlery and epergnes bearing exotic fruit. In short the whole thing was blindingly brilliant and uncomfortably hot.

  “Poor old chap is completely mad,” Lord Orrick, her charge’s father, said to his neighbour at the dinner table.

  Sybil repressed a shiver. Mad. The word struck at her heart like a knife. Accusations of lunacy, fear of incarceration, were her constant companion. But Lord Orrick was not talking about her, he was talking about poor King George.

  “Locked up tight,” Orrick said, nodding. He was a handsome man, an earl and a member of the Prince’s Carleton House set. He employed Sybil as a chaperon for his daughter. If he knew what Sybil saw, he’d be horrified. Likely he’d want her locked up tight too.

  She closed her eyes briefly. Better not to think of it.

  Say nothing. See nothing. It was her only option. Sybil pushed at the food on her golden plate with her golden fork. What would they say, if they knew what she saw, these lords and ladies up and down the long table? They would shun her, as they had shunned her mother. Shut her away.

  “Oh, no, Sybby, do you see it?” Lady Caroline Orrick said over the babble around them.

  Sybil’s heart lurched. Her stomach shifted queasily. “Do I see what, Caro?” she murmured quietly. A chaperon never drew attention to herself if she wanted to retain her position.

  “Fish. Swimming.” Brown eyes wide, luxurious chestnut curls framing a pretty, heart-shaped face she leaned forward to peer into the water. “Ew. There’s a dead one.” Her charge made the sort of face only a schoolgirl would show to the world.

  Fish. Sybil closed her eyes briefly, thankfully. Fish were normal everyday creatures. All she had ever wanted was to be ordinary. Unremarkable. “Keep your voice down,” Sybil whispered in her charge’s ear. Any breach of the young woman’s manners and Sybil would be blamed. Lord Orrick was a good and kind man, but he wanted a good marriage for his daughter and Sybil wanted to prove her worth in that regard. It would stand her in good stead when a new position was required.

  Caroline blinked. “
Sorry,” she whispered, so low Sybil could scarcely hear her.

  Dash it, she’d spoken more sharply than she’d intended. Nerves. “Apology accepted. Remember a lady never squeals or shouts. Normal tones are quite acceptable.”

  “It is disgusting to have dead fish in the middle of the table,” Caro said, at a sensible volume.

  “Don’t let the Prince Regent hear you.” Lord Orrick muttered from the other side of his daughter. “He is a sensitive sort of chap. Might take a pet.”

  Sybil flushed at the implied criticism of her charge’s manners, but Caro didn’t notice. She was too busy trying to catch the eye of the young man on the opposite side of the table. A handsome young fellow in naval uniform. He winked.

  Sybil sighed and pretended not to see. A little flirtation for a debutante was harmless enough. As long as it stayed within reasonable bounds.

  “Who is the man sitting beside King Louis,” Sybil asked Lord Orrick thinking to improve the tone of their conversation and perhaps distract Caro from the sailor. “The dark, handsome one with the blue sash covered in orders.”

  Orrick’s lip curled in disapproval. “Another displaced royal we are supporting to keep safe from Bonaparte. Vlad, King of Mondavia. On his right is Prince David, a cousin or some such, and on his left, Viscompte Dryden, his Ambassador to the Court of King George.”

  “Oh my!” Caro said staring. “Kings and Princes. Are we likely to meet them at parties, do you think?”

  Orrick gave her a hard look. “Let us hope not. None of them have a feather to fly between them, and Dryden is an absolute disgrace. Not once have I seen him less than half seas over. Not even at the palace. If he is an example of Mondavian manhood, you will do well to avoid them all.”

  The information about King Vlad had been in all the newspapers some years before. His father, the King of a small country in the Alps had been brutally murdered in a coup supported by Napoleon Bonaparte. Like the Bourbons from France, the son was exiled in Britain. His dark eyes were full of shadows, but his square jaw showed a determination beyond his youth. But it was not the King and his seated companions at table upon whom Sybil’s gaze lingered, it was the man standing behind them who held her attention.